Poetry Translations
Researched and translated by Maria Romero, Spring 2016
I came across Repertorio Americano while conducting research for a translation class. Catering to an international community of free thinkers and featuring the work of Latin American intellectuals, it was published in Costa Rica between 1919 to 1958.
This little-known anti-facist publication that featured the work of Tica poets from a bygone era intrigued me, and I decided to focus my translation work solely on the poems found within its pages.
My research included travel to Costa Rica to meet the professor who provided me with information and access to the magazine’s archives at the Universidad Nacional de Costa Rica.
The following poems are two examples from my work in translation.
Anatomía
Ifigenia (seud.)
​
Era una masa roja y sangrienta
que de dolor la víscera partía,
era gigante altivo y en su loca
visión abrasadora se moría.
Soñaba con los ojos de un extraño
que su hermano cerebro la fingía,
y besaba las manos de la dicha
que en carrera veloz, también huía.
Nacío sano, era alegre, era la imagen
del que el dolor ignora y la porfía,
pero llegó fatal aquel instante
en que guijarro cruel su vida hería.
Rocoso, estéril, sin calor ni riego
quiso vivir la luz de un nuevo día
e incauto abriendo al lanzador de flechas empezó
de este modo su agonía.
Anatomy
Ifigenia (pseud.)
​
It was a scarlet, bloody mass,
the organ dividing in pain.
Enormous, haughty. In its delirious
scorching vision it was dying.
​
It dreamed with the eyes of a stranger
that its brother brain, bluffing,
kissed the hands of felicity
who, in a sprint, also fled.
​
It was born healthy, cheerful; an image
that obstinacy and pain ignored.
But then came that fatal moment
when a cruel stone wounded its life.
​
Rocky, barren, without warmth or circulation,
it wanted to live the light of a new day.
And, naïvely opening itself to the archer’s arrows,
thus began its agony.
Tú
Flor de Luna (sued.)
​
Sueño… que cuando el mundo apaga sus luces y
la noche extiende sus dos alas oscuras sobre las
montañas, tú con tu violín rezas el Angelus y
es un prodigio de pasión y de ternura tu instrumento.
Y esa música en que pones toda tu alma y
que tiene todas las prerrogativas de un poema de
amor lleno de melancolía, divinamente mágico,
divinamente triste, me hace sentir el delirio de un amor
que fue mío toda la vida.
Hace siglos debió haber sido mío y aún lo
buscaba.
Sí, era mío, como yo era eternamente suya.
¡Y sigo oyendo esa música llena de suaves
armonías y sigue tu arco tejiendo maravillas!
Y me das el placer de tus ojos majos, de tu
boca quemante, de tus manos finas y pálidas como
cirios orientales.
¡A ti también, corazón de mi amado, te he oído
cantar como en sordina!
En la quietud de la noche te he oído latir cerca
del mío!...
​
San José, febrero de 1925.
You
Flor de Luna (pseud.)
​
I dream... that when the world dims its lights
and night spreads a pair of dark wings over the
mountains, you invoke prayers with your violin,
a prodigy of passion and tenderness.
You pour your whole soul into the music, which
has all the prerogatives of a love poem full of
melancholy—divinely magical, divinely miserable.
You make me feel the excitement of a
life-long love.
It should have been mine centuries ago and still I searched for it.
Yes, it was mine, as I was eternally his.
I keep hearing that music full of fluid
harmonies; it flows from your bow, weaving
miracles.
You give me the pleasure of your lovely eyes,
your fiery mouth, your pale, delicate hands like
Easter candles.
I have heard you too, heart of my beloved,
heard you sing softly!
In the stillness of the night I’ve heard your
heartbeat close to mine.
​
San José, Costa Rica; February 1925.